In Plaid Nights, men in kilts are as varied as they are hot. Whether they’re caber tossers, rugby players, Highland warriors, country dancers, or time-traveling vampires, they’re up for surprises and sexy good times.

Rob Rosen starts us off with humor in “Tossing It.” Contemporary men discover love in unexpected places in “Whiskey and Want” by Megan McFerren, “Some Like It Scot” by Julia Talbot, “Perfect Working Order” by Elizabeth Coldwell, and “Off-Kilter” by Racheline Maltese & Erin McRae. We get a taste of the paranormal in “Sir WW” by Angelique Voisen, “Feumaidh Mi Ruith (I Have to Run)” by Missouri Dalton, and “Kilt in the Closet” by Logan Zachary. And we’re treated to forbidden love in historicals “Hunting for a Highlander” by Lila Mathews, “A Time to Heal” by Anna Mansel, and “As Fair Art Thou, My Bonny Lad” by McKay.

In these stories, some tartan-clad men wear their kilts in the “traditional manner,” while others are less daring. But all find love, and of course, a happy ending—especially at night, when the plaid comes off.

Pages or Words: 65,000 words

Categories: Contemporary, Erotica, Gay Fiction, Historical, M/M Romance, Paranormal (Please note: As an anthology, not all categories may relate to all stories.)

Excerpt: From “Tossing It” by Rob Rosen:
He took a spoonful of stew into his mouth, green eyes sparkling in the daylight. He was cute in a lanky, pale, freckled sort of way. He sighed contentedly as he set the spoon back down. “Just like mom used to make.”

“Back in the old country?”

He laughed. “Back in New Jersey. Though Newark is sort of old.”

We continued eating together, side by side. His leg brushed mine. It stayed brushed. I didn’t move mine away; he didn’t move his either. This was an odd turn of events. Was he gay? Not a clue. Still, most guys would’ve moved their legs away. Maybe he was simply oblivious. Straight guys sometimes had a habit of that. You just never knew. Then again, you could test the theory if you were so inclined. Me, I was always so inclined.

I pointed to a throng of kilted behemoths off to the side. “What’s with the skirted mountain men?”

He chuckled. “Caber tossers.”

“That some sort of Scottish slang for rednecks?”

He turned my way, eyes locking with mine. It was like staring into a field of emeralds. Guess I’d been too busy staring at his crotch before to notice. Shame on me. “Caber tossers. They toss logs. Poles. Big ones.” Well, he’d certainly know about big poles, I figured. “They’re up to twenty feet tall and almost two hundred pounds.”

“And they toss them? Why?”

“For sport.”

I ate a couple more bites of my fish. It was perfectly cooked, greasy and flaky. My stomach settled down. “Sport? Like tiddlywinks for giants?”

He nodded as he continued eating his stew. His eyes rarely left mine. I was all too glad to return the favor. I stared at his freckles, connecting the dots, constellations hidden in the patterns. “Something like that.”

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